Genre: Erotic Contemporary Romance Heat Level: 3 Word Count: 66, 500 ISBN: 978-0-3695-1582-7 Editor: Jessica Leonie Cover Artist: Jay Aheer

Critical Condition by Elle Prince

Heat Level 3
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The chances of moving abroad to restart your life just to then nearly die in a car accident? Slim.

The chances of surviving said accident? Slimmer.

The chances of meeting the surgeon who saved your life five years later — as your new supervisor? Astronomical.

But that's exactly what happens to Kelly Cooper. And Dr. Rowan Theodore Hale—brilliant, charming, devastatingly hot, with a reputation half the female staff can vouch for—has absolutely no idea who she is. Obviously, this isn't exactly an ideal situation.

But can you escape fate when it's chasing you at full speed?

 

Excerpt:

The coffee is there when I arrive. Same spot as always, sitting on the nurses' station as if it grew there overnight.

When my eyes land on the cup, suddenly all my worries just evaporate. Then they come back when I realize how I will inevitably have to interact with Rowan. I stand there with that fact and look at it for a second. Then I pick it up, take a sip, and let it be what it is.

I’m a big girl. I can deal with it.

Maya is watching me from behind a chart with the energy of someone who has been waiting for this moment specifically. I don't give her anything. I sip my coffee, check the board, and ask Rose where she needs me.

“Room 14,” Rose says, without looking up. “Beds need changing before the afternoon admission. Fresh linen's in the cart outside.”

“On it.”

Room 14 is at the quiet end of the ward—one of the private rooms, empty between patients, morning light coming gray and flat through the window. I wheel the linen cart in, strip the bed, and get to work. I'm smoothing the pillowcase when I hear the door creak ajar. I know those footsteps.

I keep my eyes on the pillowcase for a moment longer than necessary, smoothing a wrinkle that isn't really there, buying myself approximately two seconds to arrange my face into one that doesn't look like I spent the night staring at a letter with his name on it.

When I finally turn, he's already crossed the room.

Rowan doesn't say anything; he just holds out a bakery box tied with a blue ribbon that looks like it’s been retied at least five times, if not more. He clears his throat and sets it on the bed in front of me when I don't immediately take it.

Then he steps back and waits, arms crossed, face giving absolutely nothing away. I look at it for a second, then at him. “What's this?”

“Open it, Cooper, I promise it won't blow up.”

I pull the ribbon loose and lift the lid, and the smell hits me before I can prepare for it—warm cake, real blueberries, vanilla so sweet it almost hurts, which, given that I’ve had almost nothing to eat today, is enough to make me emotional.

“Blueberry vanilla cupcakes,” I say slowly, refusing to look away. Somehow, I’m scared that if I do, they’ll evaporate.

“You said they were your favorite or something.” He shrugs, but his tone betrays him.

Rowan Hale is nervous. The man who held someone's heart in his hands yesterday and didn't blink is actually nervous.

“The frosting is less sweet than conventional. I adjusted the ratio,” he adds quickly.

Of course he did. Of course he baked me apology cupcakes from scratch and then optimized the recipe to protect my health. I reach into the box and take one out. At this point, I’m starving. I bite into it, and it's—God, it's perfect. The cake is light and soft, the blueberries firm and fresh against the vanilla, and the frosting is just exactly right.

I close my eyes for one involuntary second. “Mhhh. They are amazing.”

When I open them, he's watching me with a careful expression and relaxed shoulders, as though he'd genuinely been waiting for my verdict. I don’t know what comes over me, but I step closer, eyes never leaving his.

He regularly makes life-or-death decisions before lunch, and somehow he'd still been nervous about whether I'd like his cupcakes. God help me, I want to kiss him so bad.

“Do you want to taste it?” I ask in a low voice, licking my lips involuntarily, then I take another bite just to have something to do with my mouth. Big mistake. Rowan's eyes follow the movement and darken even further.

I fully expect him to grab a bite, but instead he takes my hand, gently grabs my fingers, and brings them to his mouth. My breath hitches as his tongue circles, sucking the frosting off, his eyes never leaving mine.

“You were right,” he whispers, pulling back. “They are amazing.”

My brain completely abandons me. Every sensible thought I possessed ten seconds ago packs its bags and leaves. There are probably policies about whatever just happened. Entire manuals, even.

Hell, I’m about to ask for a cigarette. This is so inappropriate and dirty and forbidden, but it’s too late for sensible decisions. Something shifts in my chest—or maybe lower than that, if I'm being honest—and before I can talk myself out of it, I reach up, grab a fistful of his scrub top, and pull him down.

The kiss is deep and immediate, his mouth opening against mine as my hands find his jaw. His fingers slide into my hair, and he tilts my head back, kissing me so thoroughly that the room tips sideways and I forget, briefly, that I'm supposed to be changing sheets.

He pulls back just enough to look at me. There’s predatory hunger in his eyes as his gaze melts into mine. He grabs me by the waist and lifts me like I weigh nothing, and I have approximately half a second to register that before he turns and drops me onto the freshly made bed.

The cupcake box hits the floor somewhere behind him. Neither of us looks at it.

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